As soon as Jack left, Lilly dug into her reticule and pulled out her note to Colonel MacIntyre. Drawing in a deep breath, she slid the envelope into the center of the pages. It stuck up beyond the top edge of the book. She grimaced as she reached to return the volume. She jumped and flailed to shove it back, but even stretching her arm nearly out of its socket, she couldn’t touch the shelf.
“Oh, dear,” she muttered, panting from her efforts.
Afraid that Annie and Jack might return at any moment, she compromised and pushed the volume into an empty space one shelf below the W’s. The recipient of the letter would just have to search for the book.
Jack rejoined her. “The shop is all out of
Tom Sawyer
. It’s very popular.”
That was a blessing since she hadn’t brought enough money to purchase it. “Thank you for looking.”
“You’re not buying the
Leaves of Grass
?” Jack looked down at her empty hands.
“No, I decided against it. I’ll pick a more appropriate work some other time.”
“An excellent decision, I’m sure.”
He nodded as Lilly stepped away from the stacks. She passed him when she noticed his long arm snake around her to the misplaced copy of Whitman. She spun about and watched in horror as Jack grasped the book. He reached to the top shelf. The pages fanned out and the letter dropped to the floor.
“What do we have here?” He grabbed the envelope before Lilly could snatch it away. His sardonic grin infuriated her.
She rubbed her forehead and tried to hide her fiery hot and, no doubt, scarlet face.
He leaned against the bookcase. “Well, Miss Westbrook, are you going to explain or must I guess what this is all about? Your choice.”
Lilly tensed. She met his mocking appraisal with a defiant stare. “I don’t owe you an explanation. This is strictly my business.”
“I’m sorry to have to do this,” he said as he moved to open the envelope, “but I have no other option.”
Lilly grabbed for the letter and missed. “Return it at once.”
He held the letter above his head. Pulling on his arm with all her strength, she found hard muscle beneath his navy blue jacket. She jumped and swatted to no avail.
“Stop this ridiculous game, Jack. You’re making fools of us both.”
“If you don’t wish me to rip this open and read it out loud, tell me what it’s about.” His eyes glared with exasperation. “Are you sending a love note to someone?”
“Don’t be ludicrous.”
“Exactly the point.” Jack stuck his index finger into the air. “But then, you must have something else in mind. Does this concern Miss Fannie Cole?”
“Please stop badgering me.” Lilly glanced about and noticed a friend of her mother’s at the end of the aisle examining the religion books. “And do keep your voice low.”
Jack swept a finger to his lips and whispered, “I won’t say a word about Miss Cole if you tell me the truth about her.”
Smoldering anger quickly flared. “Jackson Grail, you’ve exhausted every bit of my patience. If you continue, I shall call the clerk and have you thrown out of this book shop on your ear.”
His raised his arms in mock fear as Mrs. Leontina Radcliffe, staring openly at Jack’s antics, hurried toward them.
“If you answer a few questions I have about my most popular authoress, I won’t tell Mrs. Radcliffe who you really are.”
His stage whisper could easily reach the lovely and stylishly dressed woman.
“Do stop talking or I’ll scream.”
“Then are you coming with me to the tea shop?”
Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “Yes, if you insist.”
Jack bowed. “I do, indeed.”
Annie appeared without a book. “There ’s no
Tom Sawyer
in stock, miss.”
Lilly steadied her nerves. “Then look for
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
. Surely they have some books by Mark Twain. Take your time. I’ll be back in a short while.”
After greeting Mrs. Radcliffe, Lilly marched out of the shop and followed Jack to a deserted café a short way down the street where he ordered tea and petit fours. As they waited to be served, their silence thickened.
“That was quite a show you put on.” Lilly flared.
Jack chuckled and poked his head around the vase of roses in the center of the table. He moved them off to the side. “I thought I was quite effective.”
“You would,” she conceded with a rueful twist of her mouth. “Out with it. I don’t have all day to spar with you.”
The formally attired waiter laid their dessert on the white damask tablecloth and poured tea into thin china cups rimmed in gold. When he departed, Jack leaned closer to Lilly, his full attention riveted on her. Instinctively she edged away. Folding her hands in her lap, she clasped them tightly.
“Lilly, I know you are Fannie Cole.”
His firmness shattered her resolve to do battle. “Why do you believe that?”
He leaned across the small square table, his dark eyes probing. “Because you’re the only writer who could have known about our tryst at Cooper’s Pond.”
Perspiration beaded her forehead as she met his gaze. “What does that have to do with Miss Cole?”
Jack shook his head and the merriment in his eyes faded. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you? All right, if you don’t remember what you wrote, I’ll refresh your memory.”
L
illy tensed as Jack continued. “In
Dorothea’s Dilemma
, a young lady is saved from falling through the ice by her beloved.” He continued, reciting her favorite scene in her favorite book. He leaned closer. “Ice skating, upstate New York, stealing time away from the rest of the group. Does any of this sound familiar?” All traces of humor left his face.
Lilly trembled, but she managed a dry smile. “Your story is a bit melodramatic.”
“That’s how I remember it—melodramatic, terrifying. I like to picture myself as your Sir Galahad—without the white steed, of course.”
Despite herself, Lilly laughed nervously. “You’re outrageous, Jackson Grail.”
“Perhaps, but I’m also serious. Lilly, please listen. I can help you deal with MacIntyre. He ’s in the midst of blackmailing you, right?” His eyes narrowed and he glowered. “Is that what your note is all about?”
She took a sip of tea and ignored his question.
“I can see that it is.” He paused for several seconds. “Now that I’ve discovered your identity, I hope you’ll reconsider.” His voice was gentle, but his eyes sparked with determination.
“You’ve established nothing, except that life is fraught with coincidences.” Lilly pushed back the heavy gilded chair and rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I must leave. Good day.”
“Lilly, stop denying the truth. Admit you’re Fannie Cole.”
She held out her hand. “Return my letter or I shall tell the waiter you stole it from me. I’ll ask him to fetch a policeman.” She glared at the envelope he clutched tightly.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t force me, Jack. Just give me back what’s mine.”
Grimacing, he thrust the letter into her hand. “You win—for now.”
Leaving behind a plate of sweets, she strode into the bright afternoon sunlight. Her neck ached, her temples throbbed. If only Jack understood she couldn’t possibly introduce herself to Fannie’s readers—even if she were so inclined.
Without her family’s approval, she ’d never divulge her secret. And even if the world turned inside out and her parents bestowed their blessing, she refused to relinquish her privacy and take on a role for which she was so ill suited. Accommodating Jack was impossible. He ’d have to accept no as her final answer and find another way to build his business.
He looked so forlorn she pitied him and wished he didn’t depend so completely upon her cooperation. Yet, she couldn’t do as he asked.
Glancing up, she watched Jack board the gig and head south down Bellevue Avenue toward Summerhill. Quickly, she returned to the book shop and asked the clerk for a step stool. She placed the note into
Leaves of Grass
.
Too bad she hadn’t thought of a step stool earlier.
SNAPPING THE REINS, Jack let the horse fly around the twists and turns of Ocean Drive. Her chestnut back glistened with sweat as her legs stretched into a gallop. The carriage careened to one side and threatened to overturn and smash into the stone wall bordering the long perimeter of Summerhill. He pulled back on the reins, slowing the horse to a more manageable canter.
Careful, Jack
.
No point in breaking your neck over the fate of a publishing house or Lilly’s intransigence
.
He’d driven around for over an hour in the sea breeze and sunshine, hoping to ease his frustration. But his financial worries spun through this mind. With every dollar he had now invested in his three enterprises, he felt curiously at the mercy of the world again—much like when he had nothing at all. He ’d thought wealth would provide security and a sense of well-being. And to a certain degree it had, yet along with the benefits came the fear of losing it all. A frequent roiling in the pit of his stomach proved just how vulnerable he felt.
He’d opened his soul to Lilly and she ’d still refused to help him. Not that he really faulted her for her stubbornness. He’d treated her so shabbily six years ago, he deserved punishment. But it would be generous of her to forget the past and finally forgive him. And to trust him to treat her fairly.
He turned onto Summerhill’s drive and forced Lilly from his thoughts. Back to business concerns he
could
control, at least for the time being.
Jones and Jarman needed Fannie Cole more than ever. But he had little chance of changing Lilly’s mind about a publicity campaign. Jack grunted. Lilly Westbrook writing as Fannie Cole. What bad luck. He’d never really considered her courageous enough to buck society and churn out popular novels, though he ’d had his suspicions. Of course, she actually hadn’t crossed society. She’d sidestepped and concealed her profession. She ’d hidden her light under a bushel and it was undoubtedly torturing her.
But if he were a good Christian he ’d leave Lilly alone and not compound her problems. He undoubtedly was adding to her misery just like Colonel MacIntyre. Well no, perhaps he wasn’t quite that despicable. At any rate, he ’d treat her with more kindness from now on and handle
Talk of the Town
on his own. Somehow.
THE NEXT MORNING Jack waited for the coachman to drive the carriage up to the veranda. After a late night at yet another fancy ball, most of the household were probably still curled up in their soft feather beds, too exhausted for Sunday service, Jack assumed.
The front door flew open and Lilly stepped outside, adjusting a flowery hat that dipped becomingly over her forehead. Her maid trailed at her heels. Jack bowed low to Lilly and let his face stretch into a broad grin. A lovely sight in pale blue and white lace, she stopped short at the threshold and fussed with the bow at her neck.
“Good morning, Jack. I’m afraid I’m late. I thought the carriage might be gone by now.” As she spoke, the open landau arrived with a coachman sitting straight and tall in his box. She pulled on a white glove, carefully fitting her fingers into the kid. “I suppose we’re the only ones going to church this morning. I checked with my friend Miranda and I’m afraid she ’s a bit under the weather and won’t be able to join us.” Her voice sounded a little too bright and high pitched.
“I’m sorry to hear that. So where do you usually worship?” Jack offered his hand and boosted her into the vehicle as the maid scrambled up beside the coachman.
“Trinity—when we attend. I’m afraid church is the last thing my family thinks about during the summer season. But they do prefer Trinity to all the others. I often go with only Annie.”
Just as he’d guessed. The elite belonged to Trinity, the imposing white colonial structure where George Washington had worshipped when he’d visited Newport. Jack heard many of the members decorated their soft pew cushions in their family colors to match their coaches and footmen’s livery.
“Would you mind a less fashionable church with a pastor who gives exceptional sermons?” That would be a departure for Lilly and a challenge to her conventional attitudes. He wondered if she ’d decline.
“I’d be delighted to go.”
“Good.” He suppressed a chuckle. Lilly was proving to be far less conventional than he ’d ever thought.
“What church shall we be attending?” she asked.
“Calvary, if you don’t mind.”
Jack gave directions to the driver and the carriage jerked forward. He wanted to edge closer to Lilly but knew she ’d shift toward the door. What happened to his honorable intentions of remaining as far away as possible?
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Calvary,” Lilly said as she scooted to the far side of the carriage seat.
Why would she? Calvary wasn’t remotely fashionable. Mr. Ames, the butler, had recommended it as the house of worship favored by the staff and that was sufficient for Jack.
They rode in silence around Ocean Drive, inhaled fresh sea air, and gazed at the rugged coastline swept clean by the wind. Once they reached town they wound through a maze of narrow, leafy streets bathed in deep shade. Their horses’ hooves and carriage wheels ground over gravel and dirt, disturbing the bird song and the occasional bark of a dog.
When the small, stone church came into view, the coachman slowed the horses and pulled up to the curb. Jack and Lilly climbed down and followed the other congregants into the building.
Once inside, Jack’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness. The wooden floor, partially covered by a faded red runner, creaked as they walked down the center aisle. A stained glass window above the pulpit filtered the morning light and added a touch of warmth to the cool, dark interior. He liked the smell of furniture polish and the mustiness of age and climate.
It reminded him of the little church he ’d attended with his parents, a welcoming place he ’d tucked into his bank of childhood memories. Odd to be with Lilly in a spot so reminiscent of his past and so different from her own. The wide, impenetrable chasm that separated them widened and grew deeper; Lilly was accustomed to luxury and he wasn’t.
He glanced over the congregation without recognizing anyone, not that he expected to. From the look of the patched clothing worn by the worshippers, he assumed Calvary was packed shoulder to shoulder with townsfolk, probably shopkeepers and laborers. None of the summer people would think of patronizing any church without their friends.
Sidestepping into the pew, Jack felt strangely at home. But did Lilly? Dressed in her finery, plain by society’s standards, she stood out as a very rich lady indeed. Both men and women stole curious glances at her. She smiled politely before settling into silent prayer.
When the organ finally poured out its music, Jack rose and sang with his usual gusto. He made a joyful, robust noise to the Lord, and that was what counted, he hoped, not the dismal quality of his voice. Lilly flashed a crooked smile when he reached for a high note and missed by a mile. Her grin, half hidden behind the brim and veil of her pearl gray hat, pierced his heart with a sad sweetness.
Mercifully, the plump pastor with a canyon-deep voice hooked his attention and pulled him back to the present. Jack opened his Bible to Romans 12:1–2 as Reverend Minter read the verses.
“I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.”
Hmm
. Now those were words to ponder. Did Lilly understand she shouldn’t worry what the world would say about her writing career? Her decision to follow the perfect will of God ought to relieve her mind and renew her heart. Jack glanced sideways, but her profile betrayed no reaction to the verse. He felt sure she needed the pastor’s message, just as he did.
And then Reverend Minter boomed Joshua 24:15. “And if it seem evil unto you to serve the LORD, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.”
Would this convince Lilly to follow God instead of her parents and her social circle? Only He deserved her undivided loyalty. Jack hoped she ’d serve the Lord even if it didn’t benefit Jones and Jarman.
The pastor’s voice resonated throughout the packed church. “Always remember, you can not serve both God and man. You must choose.” He glanced down at the open Bible resting on his pulpit and read aloud. “Jeremiah 45:5 says: ‘And seeketh thou great things for thyself? seek them not: for, behold, I will bring evil upon all flesh, saith the LORD; but thy life will I give unto thee for a prey in all places whither thou goest.’”
The preacher’s eyes gleamed as his gaze swept across the congregation. “Proverbs 11:28. ‘He that trusteth in his riches shall fall; but the righteous shall flourish as a branch.’ Value the Lord, not your earthly possessions.”
Jack squirmed. Why would the man preach against riches when most of his flock looked like working-class poor? These people were hardly burdened by an overabundance of material goods. Of course, riches came in many forms, not merely hard currency. To serve yourself and not the Lord was the crux of the matter.
Perspiration seeped under his tight collar and trickled down his back. Perhaps the sermon was meant for him
and
Lilly. That was the strangest thing about Scripture—it spoke to everybody in a clear, disconcerting way, leaving no one boastful or unaffected.
On the way out they shook hands with Pastor Minter and his wife and then boarded the carriage. It rolled toward Summerhill at a fast clip. He and Lilly sat across from each other, but neither of them spoke. He wanted to discuss the sermon and his suggestions about Fannie ’s career, but she looked lost in her own thoughts as she stared at the countryside flying by. Was she pondering the sermon or her troubles as a dime novelist? He sighed. She wasn’t going to divulge whatever was on her mind, though he wished she ’d take a chance and confide in him.
As the carriage rolled down Ocean Drive, Lilly turned her head and half-smiled. “I’ve been mulling over what Pastor Minter said. And I have a confession to make.”
He swallowed hard. “Yes?”
“As you’ve long suspected, I’m your authoress, Fannie Cole. However, I’m afraid my identity won’t change anything for you. I’ll continue to write my dime novels, but I won’t allow you to promote me as Fannie, in any way. I’m sorry, Jack.”
He paused. “I’ll respect your wishes, Lilly. But you’ll be passing up a wonderful opportunity to make more money for the Settlement House.”
Lilly nodded. “Maybe you’re right. But I couldn’t promote myself like Elna Price. She reminds me of a Vaudeville star, though I admit I’ve never seen one actually perform. But I’ve heard tales of how they flaunt themselves. And I’ve seen Mrs. Price. That was more than enough to dissuade me from ever going out in public to sell my books.”
“I’d never ask you to blatantly promote yourself. I’m only asking you to reveal your name and sign a few autographs.”
He bit back his dismay. He needed so much more from Fannie, but even a small amount of publicity would help Jones and Jarman inch toward the top of the publishing heap. But from the firm set of her jaw, she wasn’t about to budge. “I promise not to exploit Fannie Cole.”